


Will you not have me, then?

by CabiriaMinerva



Series: Of Duty and Inclinations [1]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Devotion, F/M, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Love, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Older Man/Younger Woman, Rejection, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Romance, True Love, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-03 04:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16319168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CabiriaMinerva/pseuds/CabiriaMinerva
Summary: Alexandrina Victoria has always been a strong-willed, stubborn child. That has not changed now that she has become a woman, and a Queen.So, when Lord Melbourne first rejects her, she doesn't let him put her off.





	1. Chapter I

  
  


_«He cares only for the memory of his wife.»_

_«Is that what he told you? Then that is what he wants you to believe.»_

  
  


  
  


_«But even though he was free, they never married._

_I think both he and the Queen understood they were not in a position to marry._

_Whatever their inclination.»_

  
  


_«Elizabeth seems to have become something of a favourite, Ma'am.»_

_«I have decided to follow her example and reign alone. With companions, perhaps.»_

  
  


«I don't want things to change.» She is afflicted, and he's utterly aware of that. Hers is a battle lost even before it had started. Even before she realized it had started. Her affliction reverberates in his chest like a myriad of daggers that rains on his own heart. Still, he knows his obligations.

«I know, Ma'am.» Inhaling a shaking breath, he steadies his voice, finding the strength to fulfil his duty, however painful that could be. «But I believe you will not be happy alone...» He lets the words float between them. «... even with companions.»

But, oh, how he wishes she could be – happy to live unwed but _with companions, perhaps_ , that is. «You need a husband... to love you... honour you, cherish you.»

He stops talking, then. For had his tongue the freedom to finish the sentence, it would add _as I wish I could do._

But he knows fully well that theirs was only to be a fleeting infatuation. It has already led to whispers in the palace's hallways, gossips on the streets. The Queen and her little lamb, following her around like a lovesick puppy – that is the caption on a pamphlet someone slipped into his hands on the street. Mrs. Melbourne – that is the name that is whispered in the breaks between votes.

Truly, he should have given an halt to that madness a long time ago. He just... well, he has a propensity to scandal, after all, hasn't he?

His gaze moves from the polished leather of his riding boots to her figure: so small, yet so strong-willed. But not enough to change the reality of things.

She has stopped perusing the document in her hand and has, he realizes, been perusing him for some time now.

«Only a few days ago you told me that being wed isn't a core requirement for being a sovereign, Lord M. Are you recanting that statement?» she inquires in an oddly placid voice.

«I am not, Ma'am.» Doesn't he, though? It is most fortunate that he has had many years to practice that composure he's so renowned for: for in this moment, he can feel his certainty slipping through his fingers. «I just think...» Why is it so hard to do his duty?

_You know why,_ it's the prompt answer that a small voice in the back of his mind murmurs.

Yes, of course he does. Never had his duty been so opposite to his inclinations. He was a well-balanced politician, capable of always keeping both parties equally satisfied – well... or, as some would say, equally unsatisfied. It has been his duty for so long, after all, that he has mastered it perfectly. Even with Caro, after she had her...  _adventure_ ... with Byron, Lord Melbourne had been faithful to his duty, taking her back home and avoiding her to live her last years an outcast. His inclinations had conformed without much resistance.

But now, his gaze locked to those of the woman sitting in front of him, his mind was screaming to be freed from any concept of  _duty._

And that is the problem: she is his Queen, to whom he would happily sacrifice everything and anything, but he cannot prevent himself from seeing her as the woman she was becoming.

«You think what, Lord M.?» she interrupts his pondering, and he senses already he is losing a game he wasn't aware he had entered.

After clearing his throat, he tries to continue from where he has trailed off. «I just think, Ma'am, that although there are some people naturally disposed for solitude, you do not seem to be one of them. If I may say so.» Always the politician.

«How so?» The Queen seems almost amused, were it not for the blatant vexation born from his recalcitrance to comply – to what, he still hasn't fully understood.

_Can't you see that you deserve to be adored and venerate by someone that is worthy of all that you are?_

«You have endured solitude long enough in your infancy at Kensington, Your Majesty. You deserve to know the warmth of affection, of a loving husband and a family.»

«Oh, Lord M., do not remind me of that long and unpleasant imprisonment. I would not like to come back to that life, in that you are right, but as you may see, I have affection now. My ladies in waiting provide me with much appreciated company, and obviously there is you, Lord M. How could I ever feel lonely with such loyal _companions_?» She's looking straight in his eyes, now, and he's lost again in their blueness.

«I thank you for your kind words, Ma'am, but there are other kinds of affection that only a husband can provide you with.» _Oh, God, that wasn't my best choice of words. I hope she doesn't take hee..._

«Other kinds of affection, Lord M.?»

He blinks. Once, twice.

«Well, it's...» His left eye twitches a little. «A family, for instance, or moral support,» he manages to utter in his discomfort.

«It is a good think that I'm not very fond of children, then.» She laughs, quietly, as if knowing it is something that mustn't be said too loud. «And you are always there, supporting and advising me when I need you, Lord M.»

«I... It's...» He's an old man and should know better than being played by someone so young. Yet, here he is, stuttering like a clumsy adolescent. «I meant...»

Now, she's really laughing, and it's like listening to the spontaneous music of wind chimes. «Forgive me, Lord M., but it is most hilarious. You should see your expression, and if I'm not mistaken, you seem flushed.»

Sometimes, he forgets how young she is, how overflowing her emotions are. He cannot help but smile for her pure outburst of laughters. Even if it is at his own expense. _Of course, she has been segregated, but now she has uncountable ladies with whom she may speak of the matter of the heart... or whisper of things far less proper._

«I apologize, Lord M. I know what you meant, but _it was_ fun, seeing you at a loss for words. You are always _so composed_ , after all, that it is a unique situation.»

«I am glad of entertaining Her Majesty.»

_Anything to fill these enormous rooms with your laughters..._ He must hold back a small sigh of contentment.

«I will be honest with you, though. Although I am not very...familiar, with the  _things_ you were referring to, I am  _curious_ .» A soft redness spreads on her pale cheeks, and it takes some seconds for his brain to register what she has just said.

His throat feels dry, and so does his mouth.

«And I do  _feel_ ...» Now it's her turn to be at a loss for words. Not that there is a need to end the sentence: he knows what she feels, for it is the same feelings that spins in his head. But he is her Prime Minister, a mere Viscount and a politician at that! Not to mention old. He knows she doesn't care about the years that separate them, barely acknowledging them, but still they are there.

«But sure, the kind of affection you speak of was the very foundation of Elizabeth and Leicester's  _companionship_ ?» Her eyes moves on him, and he finds himself defenceless against what he reads in them.

Shyness.

Fierceness.

Hope.

Something else, something far more dangerous.

«It was... different, for them. They were two entirely different people than...» He swallows, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, he decides to simply correct it, «It was a different time, with different circumstances. And I am sure that there were many downsides, many obstacles.»

«Are you really implying that three hundreds years ago, there was  _less pressure_ on a Queen to marry and produce an heir, that it was  _easier_ for her to rule?» She raises an eyebrow.

This day is proving much more difficult than he could ever have foreseen. «No, Ma'am, I...»

«Then what you said at the ball, was it all just an attempt to appease me?» Now it's her voice that raises. «A cruel game to make me think you cared, so that you would not lose my support in the wake of your rejection?» Her lips tremble and he curses himself for being the cause of such a distress.

«I would  _never_ do such a thing,» he denies heatedly. «You know I wouldn't. I should have kept quiet, but I just...» He bites his tongue. Then, he notices the tears welling up in her blue eyes and he simply can't bear it. «I needed you to understand the difference between my duty towards you and my inclinations.» He takes her hands in his and he gazes straight in her eyes.

«Will you not have me as my companion, then?» she pleads with a small voice.

«Your Majesty, you are my Queen, I am your Prime Minister, sure you don't expect me to answer this question...» There's a plea in his voice as well. His mind is screaming,  _yes, yes, YES I WILL._

«I know precisely who we are, Lord Melbourne.» Her voice is still trembling, but has recovered some of her original fierceness. «And as your Queen, I am asking you a simple question: will you not have me, then?»

He lowers his gaze, silently.

She disentangles their hands and leaves the room.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kind of uncertain on the rating, but as I like to warm to my characters I decided that the smut can wait (for now..). Furthermore, as I'm not a native English speaker, I apologise in advance for any mistake :) In any case, I hope you've enjoyed this first chapter and will continue reading... and of course, any feedback is more than welcome!


	2. Chapter II

_Oh, I know that this love is pain  
But we can't cut it from out these veins_

 

One Republic, _Let's hurt tonight_

 

Lord Melbourne doesn't visit the palace for a few days: the boxes with the dispatches are brought to the Queen by a manservant, who is quickly dismissed without a word. She works promptly during the morning and sits with her ladies in waiting all afternoons.

Everyone knows, by now, that these kind of days it is better to quietly wait for her to start conversation or suggest activities to pass the time. She is always agitated when the Prime Minister is too busy with the Parliament or his party. Some would say she is grumpy, but never to her face – obviously.

This time, however, things are slightly different. Whereas usually she would keep inquiring about Lord Melbourne's whereabouts, these days she simply waits, spending long hours fixated on the view from her windows.

And there is something more to her restlessness, to her impatience. Something that is barely more than a shadow in her blue eyes. But it is there.

The Duchess of Kent doesn't notice, obviously. She's too busy being happy for Lord Melbourne's absence to notice that this time it is not just a matter of state affairs. She can't stop blabbering about dear cousin Albert, who is bound to arrive soon. She is also the only one who'd still try and convince her to stroll in the gardens, or maybe a game of cards?

Victoria is too distracted even to be annoyed by her _mama_ , and is mostly being monosyllabic.

Lady Portman, on the other hand, is quite the observer. She knows Her Majesty intimately, as she does William. Dear, old William. They've known since their infancy and she knows how to read his signs. The Queen is a more recent acquaintance, but she has learnt to read her signs as well. And right now, she sees something more than the usual mere nervousness that accompanies the Queen when her Prime Minister is so burdened by his duties that he stays away from Buckingham for more than a few days. She sees a hint of anger – although she is not sure whether it is aimed at him, at herself or if it is simply... _there_. About the touch of sadness she senses, Lady Portman has less doubts. It is clearly there, in the quick glances towards the doors, in the way Her Majesty slowly tortures her hands and the brim of her gown.

Yesterday, when she went to Dover House to talk to William, she saw the same emotions, the same restlessness. He tried to conceal them, but she knows him too well. So she gently insisted until he let slip that he and the Queen have had some kind of discussion – a discussion that, blatantly, didn't end well.

He refused to explain further, but something in his voice...

 

_«But please, William, if it is not the Parliament or the party that's keeping you busy, can't you find some time to come visit the Palace? You know_ she _miss–, we miss you,» she had quickly corrected herself._

_«Emma, please...» he had pleaded._

_«What happened? Is it still because of her visit to Brocket Hall?»_

_«Nothing. It has nothing to do with it!» His answer had been a bit too swift, too stiff._

_«William.»_

_«We discussed some matters I thought were already settled... and it appears they were not. I thought some days to think would be refreshing.»_

_Emma had looked around, taking in the complete mess of the room they were in. Books and papers scattered everywhere, and she had counted at least four dirty cups abandoned in the proximity of his dormeuse. She had sighed: William was usually very composed, but she knew that in his fits of anger (or sadness) he required to be left alone, even by the servants._

_«We've known each other for a long time, you and I, haven't we?» she had suddenly asked._

_His answer had been a soft grunt._

_«I know you, William. And I know_ her _too. I think I know what happened that upset you both, and I think I know both your stances on the matter.» She had paused briefly. «She is very strong-willed, and you have always had a strong sense of duty, so it comes as no surprise that you two would collide, especially in such a delicate matter.»_

_«I have no idea what you are referring to,» he had grunted._

_«Of course, William.» She had smiled. «Just know that she cares very much, as much as you care for her, and that right now you're both miserable. So, maybe you should try and find some... middle ground?»_

_His eyes had flitted towards her for the briefest of moments. Then, he had simply grunted._

 

She hoped he would find some reason and come to the Palace. At least show himself for a few moments. With a sigh, she glances at the Queen, sulking on her sofa. This is going to be a very long day.

A footman enters the door and he barely has the time to announce, «The Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne,» before the above-mentioned stalks into the room.

Conversations die and it is like everyone is waiting to see Her Majesty's reaction before allowing themselves to finally feel relieved.

The Queen doesn't rise to meet him, not at first.

Lady Portman fears maybe William wasn't so wrong in thinking a few more days apart could do them good. Her eyes move between them, waiting. Just like everyone else.

It's like time has come to an halt. They are all suspended in a single moment.

Finally, the Queen slowly raises to her feet. «Lord Melbourne.» Her voice is cold, but Lady Portman hears it is lightly quivering. When William slowly and silently comes to his Queen and kneels, kissing her hand, Lady Portman also notices how his eyes linger a moment too long on the Queen's.

Emma Portman smiles to herself. Maybe, she was right and the day wouldn't be such a disaster, after all.

«I am afraid I must leave you now, as Lord Melbourne and I must work through important state affairs, and we have already had enough lazy days as it is,» the Queen announces while exiting the room, followed by a strangely quiet Lord Melbourne.

When the doors closes behind them, the Queen stops and, without turning around, murmurs, «I was afraid you wouldn't come back.»

«I thought about going to Brocket Hall, Ma'am,» he softly admits. «Things would be... easier.»

She slowly turns around. «Would they?» she asks raising an eyebrow.

Lord Melbourn tilts his head, as if weighing his words. «Upholding our duties would be easier, Ma'am,» he corrects himself.

«I see.» She hates all his talks of duty, especially when all he is really saying is that he doesn't wish to be... She quickly blinks the tears away.

«But I found myself unable to leave knowing you were in distress because of me. I...» He looks around and it is difficult to understand if he's simply making sure no one can hear them or if he's buying time to settle an inner dilemma.

And indeed, there is a fight inside of him, for he knows it would be best to feign indifference, but he needs her to understand that he's merely doing his duty, that if things were different (if only he was a younger men, if only he was worthy of her, if only she wasn't the Queen... if only..), he would never even think about hurting her with his rejection.

_Don't you see, Devil, that you are beautiful like an angel?_ He wants to cry out, to wrap his arms around her and never let her go, for what he feels would surely bring them pain (hasn't it done so already, after all?) but the mere prospect of a life without her feels worst than hell. _And wouldn't it be the perfect punishment for my sins?,_ he thinks bitterly.

She's quiet, trying to figure out all the meanings that lie hidden behind his words.

«I couldn't bring myself to leave you. Not yet,» he finishes with strangled voice.

And then she sees how vulnerable he really is when it comes to her. Even if he tries to hide it with all his talks about duty and all his obsequious nonsense, she sees how much it costs him to reject her and how painful it is for him, who once told her she has given his life a sense again after life itself had taken all he had, to be offered something that he wants (or, at least, she hopes it is what he wants, what he desires) and feeling obliged to deny himself.

_Why must he be so stubborn?,_ she thinks while studying the worried lines on his brow. _Why should he be the one to sacrifice everything and anything in the name of some stale concept of obligation? It's not as if my inclinations and affections will or could change my ways as a sovereign._ However, she doesn't express her thoughts, thinking that for today he has already made enough of a step, coming to her. Ceding to his inclinations and not, she realizes, his supposed duty. She holds back a small smile.

It is, after all, a tiny victory.

But there is a question she isn't able to hold back, and feels she won't be able to hold back until she will be given a satisfying answer.

«But you won't have me?»

Lord Melbourne lowers his gaze and they keep walking to her study in silence

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind comments and feedbacks you've given this little thing of a story ♡ I hope you'll enjoy this second chapter as well!
> 
> Literary note: "Don't you see, Devil, that you are beautiful like an angel?" is originally "Non t'accorgi, Diavolo, che tu sei bella come un Angelo?", from Leopardi's Zibaldone di pensieri.


	3. Chapter III

_Envy is the bond between the hopeful and the damned_

 

Pink Floyd, _Green is the colour_

 

 

She's playing the pianoforte for her household, her guests, and he can't help but stare at her in adoration.

Of course, he's trying not to be _too_ obvious. But it is proving most difficult to conceal his awe.

It's not just her talent, for _she is_ talented, nor just her overall beauty. It's her absorbed frown, the way her hands move on the keys, the small smile of pride when she manages a particularly difficult passage.

It's been years since he's felt so enamoured of someone or something. He was most genuine when he told her she has given him purpose again, but to be completely honest, she has given him so much more. He thought his heart was simply fossilized, but it appears it is well alive and beating.

Right now, in fact, it is beating so fast he think someone will notice it trying to escape is chest.

_For the love of... have I lost any sense of demeanour? She is the Queen, in a room full of people who already think our relation is far from appropriate. And I am here, looking at her like she is the sun._

The corner of his lips curls a little.

_Well, isn't she, though?_

The warmth that fills him whenever they are together surely means something, after all. And even if he knows he _shouldn't_ , still, he feels it, and so, so much more.

He sighs.

At least, with all the agitation due to her uncle's decision to invite her cousins without her permission, she has desisted from her mission of driving him insane. It has been three weeks since his brief _vacation_ from the Palace, and apart from a few hints and allusions to her proposal (well, _proposals_ , as she has asked him at least thrice by now), she has kept quiet.

Maybe she's finally resigned herself, but he still has to work out whether this possibility makes him feel relieved or hurt. It depends much on what part of him is in charge when he's ruminating on it, really: duty or inclination. Right now, watching her playing so beautifully, wearing a brown gown with bronze highlights that shows her shoulders and emphasise her thin waist, he finds himself having a propensity to inclinations.

At first, he barely registers that someone else has entered the room. It is just a movement in the corner of his eye, but it could be anything. A lady fanning herself, someone fidgeting. Anything, really.

But it is not _anything_ , as he discovers when a figure sneaks in behind Her Majesty. On the contrary, it is _everything._

Lord Melbourne could swear he feels his heart sink in his chest when he sees just _who_ is approaching the Queen – who is so focused on her music that still she hasn't notice how everyone is holding their breath.

Lean, dark and stern, Prince Albert of Saxe Coburg-Gotha is very soon bending down next to the Queen, flipping a page of the music score. She is startled and her fingers stop mid-air.

And then her eyes are on him, and William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne, experiences something that he never thought he would experience ever again. When he sees the surprise in her blue eyes and a light pink spreading on her cheeks, it's like there is a tiger on his chest, shredding his flesh and feasting on his old, weak heart.

_Jealousy? God, I really am a fool._

 

*

 

She has decided they should all go to Windsor, to show her cousins how beautiful its park is. And so they all pack their things and oblige her.

He doesn't really want to go, to watch her fall in love with Prince Albert – for he knows this is what must be happening, as she usually doesn't gladly travel there. She has often mentioned her cousins in the few day they have been at court: she seems to genuinely enjoy Ernest presence, his wit and his energy. Albert, on the other end, she discusses more with indifferent or annoyed remarks on how austere he always looks, how he seems to be always criticising her every move and word.

But Lord Melbourne sees right through her façade: after all, he too was young once. He remembers behaving in the same way with the first girls he had liked in his adolescence. And he remembers his sister and brother showing the same behaviour only a few years after.

Somehow, it reminds him just how young and inexperienced she is and, oh, just how right it is that she is falling in love with someone her age, someone untainted by life and sin. _Someone who will be there for her long after I'll be gone._

These thoughts make something inside him twist and churn, and he must take a break or he will vomit on his Windsor uniform well before he is done with the buttoning up.

Sitting down, he observes his hands tremble from the emotions. _How foolish I am. It is as it always should have been, and it is what's best for her and for the Crown._

A small voice in the back of his mind can't help but wish... No, he _will not think about this._ He must stop. There is no point in being jealous, in envying what he simply cannot have.

Still...

Lord Melbourne squeezes his eyes shut and counts back from ten to one, trying to compose himself.

Half an hour later, he is standing in the luxurious ball room, greeting and nodding and making small talk here and there.

«She looks astonishing tonight, don't you think?»

He has to bit his tongue before answering to Lady Portman. «Yes, she does.» _As always._ «Very beautiful dress,» he mumbles.

«Indeed.»

A moment passes in an almost comfortable silence.

Almost.

«She seems to enjoy his company.»

Lord Melbourne stares in front of him with a blank expression. «So it would seem.»

«And the Prince doesn't seem so immune himself.»

«Yes, I can see that,» he comments flatly.

At the moment, the two cousins are dancing: Prince Albert's left hand is resting lightly on the small of Her Majesty back, while his right hand is encasing the smaller one of the Queen. They are talking, their heads so close.

«Is _this_ what you wanted, William?» gently inquires Lady Portman.

«It is what's best for...» _her_ «... the Crown.»

Lady Portman nods, uncertain. «I believe this is what you think, but it doesn't answer my question. Is _this_ what you wanted, William?»

And he knows she is concerned, for she sees his agony. She knows him too well.

But what could he say, really? Turning to look again at the young pair, he can almost feel his heart halt in his chest.

Prince Albert has a air of solemnity, as if he is discussing something of the utmost importance, and her eyes are soft. Suddenly, her fingertips brush lightly against the gardenia that has been secured on her neckline.

The gardenia that _he_ has spent so many hours carefully nursing, thinking of how beautiful it would look on _her_.

Then the Prince takes a small blade from his boot (seriously, who did that any more?) and opens a hole in his shirt (at this he almost bursts out laughing in disbelief) before taking the flower ( _his_ flower! Such impudence!) and pushing it past the cloth, close to his heart.

And in this moment, Lord Melbourne knows that he has finally, utterly lost her. He sees it in the redness on her cheeks, in the way her eyes widens just before being timidly covered by her long, dark lashes. It is written all over her delicate frame, in all of her gestures, in the energy that everyone can see is shifting around them.

He has to restrain himself, for his chest is hurting so much, right now, that his hand almost goes to it on its own volition.

Oh, the irony of it all. To have his heart crumbling in his chest, a heart he thought was dead since long before even meeting her, because of something he has brought upon himself. To have his very soul being tore apart, ascending to grace and yet damned by the worst of sins.

He clears his throat, fearing his voice will tremble and reveal his unfathomable pain to everyone in the room. «It was never about what _I_ wanted, Emma.» _God, and I want her so. I want her more than forgiveness, more than absolution._ He clasps his hands so forcefully, his knuckles are almost white.

As Lady Portman silently puts her hand on his, he finds himself daydreaming of another life, another word. Of a place and a time where he could have promptly, heartily answered to her insisting question: _yes, I will._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry. I am utterly, absolutely sorry. I know this chapter is really angsty, and I am terribly sorry. I didn't really mean to go this way, but it kinda needed to happen. But I promise, this is not the end of it ♡  
> I'd also like to thank you all for your kindness and support, I hope I won't disappoint you in the long run :)


	4. Chapter IV

_I can turn it on_   
_Be a good machine_   
_I can hold the weight of worlds_   
_If that’s what you need_   
_Be your everything_

_But I’m only human_   
_And I bleed when I fall down_   
_I’m only human_   
_And I crash and I break down_

 

Christina Perri _, Only Human_

 

 

The order arrives just before noon, with the shortest notice possible: everyone is required to pack their belonging and be ready to leave Windsor at their earliest convenience. Lady Portman and Lady Sutherland are sipping their tea at the long breakfast table when the manservant delivers the Queen's directive.

They exchange slightly astonished and bewildered glances. At the ball, yesterday evening, Her Majesty was showing absolutely no interest in leaving Windsor and his stern, but apparently fascinating cousin.

And of course, their Queen is known for being impulsive. But they know better than to think that her decisions or changes of heart are ever random. Impulsive, that she is. But not volatile.

«William, do you happen to...» starts Lady Portman when Lord Melbourne finally appears through the doors. But he stops her with a wave of his hand. She smiles a sad smile taking in his appearance: there are dark circles under his eyes and a vague paleness to his face.

As he grunts a «Coffee,» she thinks that he must have drunk more than she had noticed at the ball. Knowing him, he had a bottle of Brandy waiting for him in his chambers and did not go to bed until he had drained it. Lady Portman sighs but says nothing – she also knows what (or better, _who_ ) is the reason for his heavy drinking. The ache inside of him needs some help to be dealt with.

The two women silently await while Lord Melbourne sits and sips some of his bitter concoction. Lady Portman might swear she hears him murmur, «Better than the Gods' Ambrosia».

When he has drained half his cup and his grunting has partially subsided, Lady Portman clears her throat. «Rough night?» she inquires gently.

«Oh, the night was mild enough, but it appears the morning isn't so merciful,» he replies in his hoarse voice.

_It probably has to do with the alcoholic aid my brain required to finally stop torturing itself and go to sleep,_ he thinks. But he would never admit it, not out loud at least. Not that he would or could deny it if Emma asked him, as she seems to know him better than anyone else. But he won't give her the satisfaction of spontaneously admitting he had to knock himself out to hush his stormy thoughts.

«Well, I hope your coffee will have the hoped effect, then.»

«Mpfh.» Is all the answer he manages to give her from behind his cup.

Good lord, he will never be thankful enough to whoever first thought to roast some coffee beans, then grind them and then let them boil in water.

«Have you heard? The Queen has gone riding very early this morning, but after a short time she has returned and has suddenly left. Her Majesty has given orders for the whole court to return to Buckingham as soon as possible,» she tentatively tells him.

He looks at her, puzzled. The cup of coffee loses its importance, and he puts it down on the table. «Did she explain why?»

Lady Portman shakes her head. «We were only told to pack and leave. I thought, maybe...» she hesitates, as if she is walking on eggs.

«What? What is it?» he urges her abruptly.

He doesn't mean to be rude, really, he just had a really difficult night and an even more difficult awakening, and he hasn't energy nor patience to spare this morning.

«I thought maybe you had seen her before she retired, maybe she had told you something about her decision, that's all,» it's the quiet reply.

She should be offended by his tone, and he wouldn't blame her for it. But she isn't.

He really doesn't deserves a friend like her.

«I'm sorry, Emma,» he mumbles. «I am...» _not myself recently,_ «tired.» He tries to smile and she answers in kind.

«Do not worry, William. I know you are not really a morning person.»

Harriet Sutherland coughs on her tea at this and quickly apologises. Lord Melbourne snorts, amused. Yes, that was an understatement.

He runs a hand on his face. «I haven't seen her after the ball, I barely saw her _at_ the ball.»

Everyone knows he is lying, but both women are too sensible to embarrass him by acknowledging the fact that his eyes never left Her Majesty the night before.

«Anyway,» he continues. «I already had plans to leave today. There is no vacation at the House, and I have many affairs to attend to.»

«Of course you do,» Lady Portman agrees. After a moment of silence, in which everyone sips from their cup, she adds, «Maybe you'd be so kind to wait for our suitcases to be ready, so that we may travel with you to the Palace?»

«As I said, I have to go to the House,» he cringes at some scones. «But I'll be glad to share a coach with you and Lady Sutherland, for a while. Maybe some company will cheer me up.» He smiles to her, apologetic of his previous behaviour.

Emma gently smiles and nods.

*

 

«Forgive me for being a little late, Ma'am. We do not usually meet so early in the morning,» he says to her after the usual kneeling and hand kissing.

Queen Victoria clasps her hands before her as if to compose herself. «There is something I must tell you.»

She looks agitated, and in his heart, Lord Melbourne is already bracing himself for whatever news is coming. He swallows.

He thinks he knows what she's about to say. His little, impulsive Queen...

He has seen the glances between her and Prince Albert, has seen the two of them dancing together. He _knows_ that if she is infatuated, then she'll want to...

God, he can't even think about it without feeling his heart crumbling a little more.

«Yesterday I had a conversation,» she continues. «A very... illuminating conversation.»

«I'm glad to hear it, Ma'am.» He just hopes his voice isn't too blatantly cracked. Not so long ago, he was much better in hiding his emotions behind a blank mask. Maybe his age has finally caught up with him.

«So, you do approve?» she asks expectantly. «You think I'm doing the right thing?»

For a few seconds, he takes her in: she barely can contain her restlessness, her thumbs rub her clasped hands and sometimes she even bites her bottom lip a little.

The idea that the source of such restlessness is the news he both fears and longs for (as it is what's best for her, for the Crown, he tells himself over and over again) sucks the air out of his lungs. But he is her Prime Minister, her friend, her ally. He cannot disappoint her by showing just how much it's going to hurt, to see her happy with another man.

So, he summons all of his self-control and his lips twitch in a brief, amused smile.

«As you've not yet told me who you spoke to, or indeed what you spoke about, it's hard for me to say,» he feigns ignorance. _As they say, ignorance is bliss._

She moistens her lips, almost biting them for the umpteenth time in a few moments and she is almost panting for the effort by now.

«I...» Her eyes seem to be unable to find something to rest on. «I've told Albert to go back to Coburg.» The words are quickly uttered, as if she fears he could somehow stop them.

«Then he is wise as...» He stops abruptly, registering what she has just said. «You did what?» He turns to her, then, as if suddenly remembering something important, he adds, «Ma'am.»

This, he didn't expect.

«I've told Albert to go back to Coburg,» she repeats, and this time her voice comes a little stronger, but her eyes are wide and she is looking at him as if...

_As if she is expecting me to praise or condemn her decision_ , he realizes.

The awareness hits him straight in the guts. He really thinks he might vomit.

She has sent Prince Albert away.

She didn't want to tell him they were to be married.

She wanted to tell him that _she doesn't want Albert_.

Lord Melbourne swallows. His knees slightly buckle and he has to hold on to the closest armrest he can find.

«Lord M! Are you all right?» The Queen runs to his side and helps him sit down. Confusion flashes on her delicate face.

«I'm sorry, Ma'am, I...» His bewildered eyes turn to hers, and he curses himself for the worry that is blatant in that most beloved blue. A worry that he is causing.

It's just... unexpected. Most unexpected. He has been preparing himself for something entirely different, rehearsing the perfect expression of surprise and delight at the merry news. He was so sure of how things would go from there, was already planning his retirement and soothing the imminent sorrow and resignation with _a lot_ of brandy... and now he finds all of his convictions wobbling.

The walls he has been carefully building around himself, to protect the remains of his heart, are crumbling under the simple force of unpredictability. As foolish as it sounds, _knowing_ that that was it, that she would marry Prince Albert and that he was to hide away at Brocket Hall for the remaining of his days... it had given him some kind of resigned comfort.

His heart would have broken, yes, but at least he would have been soundly prepared. And he would have known that she was in good hands – for he didn't like much that German Prince, but he was an educated, gentle though stern man. He would have loved her rightly, or so he had hoped.

«I...» Lord Melbourne opens his mouth, but he seems to be at a loss for words.

«You thought I had asked you here to say I would marry him,» she realizes. Her voice carries something that looks like outrage, mixed with a hint of embarrassment and maybe... frustration?

Lord Melbourne closes his eyes. «Yes,» he nods. There is no point in lying.

«You think me so volatile?» Oh, she is outraged all right. «You think I value my heart so little, that I would give it so easily to any men who spends more than fifteen minutes in my company?» Her blue eyes are glistening and there is a small angry tremor in her voice, but she straightens her back and, _oh God forgive me,_ she has never looked so regally dignified. And beautiful.

«You know this is not what I meant, Ma'am,» he replies with a small voice.

_How can I explain to her what I can barely comprehend myself?_

«Good, because I was most sincere when I told you that you already had my heart. That you _have_ it.» The emphasis she puts on the last sentence is enough to unleash a battle inside his chest. He has never doubted the sincerity in her feelings, but she _is_ young, impulsive, and surely she must know she deserves so much more, so much better.

And yet... she has chosen not to marry a most suitable match, a man she was blatantly attracted to, a young man.

Voices of duty and of inclinations are whirling in his mind, arguing, struggling. He's inches away from jumping to his feet and pulling her into her arms, murmuring all his adoration on her brown hair.

But the roar of duty is still stronger. _God only knows for how long._

«I know you were, Ma'am,» he hoarsely breathes. «But I was under the impression that Your Majesty and Prince Albert were becoming... quite close.»

She studies him, then. For a brief instant, her gaze drifts to the marble floor. _We almost were, weren't we?_ «Yes, Albert and I...» A soft pink colours her cheeks. «I won't lie to you, Lord M. I do find him charming, attractive even,» _Good grace, how bold have I become, to say such things? And to_ him _!_ She observes his quiet but hurt reaction. _It hurt him. It hurt him to see me grow fond of another man._ She hadn't thought of it, not once during her cousins stay. «He has improved a lot since we were children, and I am sure that one day he'll be a great man. Wise, educated, compassionate. But he is not...» _you_ , «a suitable match for me. He is too stern, too composed, too moralistic.»

She tentatively puts a hand on his. «And he has made some very irritating comments last time we went riding together. Some nonsense about how he thinks I am too easily influence, how I'm letting _some people_ move me around like a puppet.» She lifts her chin, offended, and he cannot help a small smile from curving his lips. _Some people, uh?_

Prince Albert wasn't the first to suggest it, and he surely won't be the last.

«That explains the sudden departure from Windsor, then.» The words slip away from his lips before he can stop them.

She doesn't answer, but her gaze says all that he needs to know.

«So what happens now, Ma'am?»

He's resisting the urge to turn his hands with the palm facing hers, and then swallow her tiny hand in his. Warming her. Comforting her.

She is less wary and wraps her fingers around his hand. They are so small, whereas his hand is so large... For a moment, the Queen is amazed by just how large they seem compared to her own hands. It's odd. Even if Lord Melbourne is tall and has hands that could lift her with no effort at all, she never feels small in his presence.

_Did I just think about being lifted by Lord M?!_ She hopes the colour on her cheeks won't give away her thoughts. Still, such inconvenient thoughts fills her belly with a bubbling sensation and her mouth with restrained laughters. _Love is like drinking one too many glass of champagne._

«Why should anything _happen_ just because I refused to marry someone I have always said I would not marry?» She seems both puzzled and amused. «I was Queen well before uncle Leopold tried to trick me into marrying my cousin. My _first cousin_ , in case you forgot.»

He snorts, remembering a comment he had made some weeks before the arrival of Albert. Yes, he doesn't think it very wise, marriage between first cousins. He has heard some physicians' speculating about the health of the offspring of such an union.

«And I think I've proved to my people, to my government, _to you_ , that I am not a child playing with a crown on her head, Lord M.»

If her words might suggest some offence is taken, her gestures say otherwise: her fingers are lightly caressing his hands and there's a tender smile on her mouth.

«I never thought you were, Ma'am,» he softly reassures her.

«I know,» she answers just as softly. «You see,» she adds after a brief pause, «we manage well enough, you and I.»

Her fingers are still caressing his hands. It takes all of his self-control to hold back the impulse to give in to his inclinations.

_If she only knew what she does to me, the things she makes me dream about at night..._

«Yes, we do,» he agrees, his voice barely a whisper by now.

«Then you understand why I would never have married him, why I could never marry anyone else?»

Lord Melbourne swallows. «People will continue to pressure you to marry someone, pushing other suitable matches in your way, Ma'am.»

«I made up my mind, Lord M. I will marry for love, or I will not marry at all,» her voice is like honey to his old, disenchanted ears. «I will not be bullied into changing my mind, not even by you.» The playful grimace that appears on her face is almost too much to resist.

_She really is the sun._

The intensity of their feelings makes it almost difficult to breathe. But it is a welcomed ache, soothed by the shy caresses of her fingers and the adoring look in his green eyes.

«And though I won't ask again, _for now,_ just know that I'm still waiting for a satisfying answer, Lord M.»

He rolls his eyes at her pleased tone. _Incorrigible_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the encouragement and the kind reviews <3  
> This chapter was a bit longer than the others, but after the angst of ch. 3, this one pretty much wrote itself! I hope you've enjoyed it :)
> 
> NB: I've noticed that in Ch. 3, in addition to the chapter's notes, there was Ch. 1 notes.. I don't know how that happened and it appears I can't rectify the error.. I apologise for the inconvenience!


	5. Chapter V

_Chances are we are alike;_  
Against what better judgement writes  
We ache like children for love,  
For a purpose worthy of  
Such a noble aim,  
Such a noble aim,  
Such a noble aim as love.  


Sleeping at Last, _Noble aim_

 

«Drina!»

Her Majesty has to hold back from rolling her eyes. Why does her mother's voice always sound like she is a child whining for a treat?

«Yes, Mama?» she asks putting down the quill on a small pile of dispatches.

Lord Melbourne has sent word that he must be at the House until long after noon, so she is working through the box all by herself. It is less entertaining, of course, but she has been Queen for more than three years now, so she has become used to the affairs of state.

Still, she doesn't really like being apart from him. Not even for half a day.

Sighing, she tries to focus on what her dear mother is saying.

«Is it true? Are _the rumours_ true?» Her arms twirls around her and, _for Christ's sake, she should join a theatrical company._

«Rumours are seldom true, as I've come to learn the hard way.» A flash of Lady Flora on her deathbed bolts under her eyelids when she briefly closes them.

It was one of her first, gigantic mistakes and, although she has matured since then, sometimes the guilt re-emerges. She bites her bottom lip.

«Please tell me you didn't do it, Drina!»

_How many times am I to tell her that my name is Victoria?_ «I would love to reassure you, Mama, but I am afraid I really have no clue what you are talking about.»

«And not so long after the débâcle with Albert!» The Duchess of Kent melodramatically collapses on a couch near her desk, bringing a hand to her forehead.

Here, this is something that would make marriage, to anyone really, more appealing: the idea of her mother finally removed from Buckingham. Even Kensington, in its nearness, would do. _There must be a way to change this idiotic rule that says I must live with my mother until I am wed. Maybe they did it on purpose, to force Queens to just choose any man and start producing heirs, even when they – even when_ we _– are not interested in doing so. It is a nightmare._

«Mama, I would ask you to explain yourself or to go back to your rooms. I am working.» With a wave of her hands, she tries to focus her mother's attention on the amount of dispatches on her desk.

«People have been talking, Drina! Even the servants! I cannot fathom why you would do something like that! It's like you enjoy hurting me, hurting your reputation, encouraging all the rumours...»

_Oh, right, I forgot every single thing I do is to displease you._ She bites her tongue. Instead, she only say one word, with a warning tone, «Mama...»

«Are you really honouring  _him_ with a higher title, Drina?»

_Oh._

«After all the years Sir John and I spent raising you, preparing you for your role, not only you refuse our counsel and deny me the title of Queen Mother, but now you are giving such a title to _that man_.»

_Of course, this is all it is about._

«The bestowing of titles is one of my privileges as Queen, Mama. A privilege I may use however I see fit.» Her voice is calm, but her tone is assertive. This is her decision and she has absolutely no intention to let her mother nor her _beloved_ Sir John even try and argue with her.

«Am I to understand you don't see _me_ , _your mother!_ , fit for the title _I deserve_?»

«You have my father's title!» She doesn't like to repeat herself, and she distinctly remembers having a similar conversation only a few years ago.

«Why do you want to humiliate me so, Drina? You exile me to the furthest wing of the Palace, refuse to give me a worthier title and then, then... you decide to elevate _that man!_ Sir John is right, you don't know what you are doing. Had he been your advisor, you wouldn't be ruining the Crown's reputation!» her mother practically cries out.

«Mama! I think you are forgetting yourself. I will not stand here and explain my decision, _your Queen's decision_ , to you. You may leave us,» she commands with a glacial voice.

She's tired of her mother's tantrums, and above all, she despises the way the woman that idolises her puppeteer and has allowed him to mistreat her own daughter for her entire life has now the nerve to insult someone who has been believing in her and supporting her since the first day, without asking anything in return.

_And without accepting anything freely given, stubborn as he is._

  
  


*

  
  


«You are in a good mood, Ma'am,» remarks Skerrett while about to loosen the lace of Her Majesty's corset.

«Mh? Yes, Skerrett, I think I am,» is the reply. She is absent-mindedly running her fingers through her hair. Notwithstanding her mother's scene, the day has been very satisfactory.

She had gone through the box quicker than expected, then she had gone riding alone to let off some steam. Her favourite mare, Hestia, was incredibly energetic and let her gallop almost to the borders to the Palace's grounds without the slightest hint of weariness.

Then, she had spent some time with her ladies, playing a game of cards or two, chatting about this and that.

If anyone had noticed her restlessness, they didn't comment. For she was impatient.

Lord Melbourne had sent word that he would arrive late in the afternoon, and she was fervently waiting to see him, to discuss the latest vote of the House, to laugh at some witty observation.

When he had finally arrived, she had melted into a soft smile.

Sometimes, the power he has on her emotions scares her, because she knows that he could very well wound her as much as he makes her happy. Especially considering that he is irremovable about a  _certain private issue_ . Although they haven't discussed it for months, the argument is always hovering around them and it is bound to resurface at some point.

And it had emerged that afternoon, although she is almost sure he isn't aware of it. Not yet.

  
  


_«Lord Melbourne, Ma'am,» had said the manservant._

_«Let him in.» Turning towards her ladies, she had dismissed them. «Lord Melbourne and I have to discuss some tedious matters, you may leave us. We will dine together, afterwards?»_

_«Yes, Your Majesty.»_

_Emma Portman and Harriet Sutherland had left the room, and she could have sworn that Lady Portman had a knowing smile on her lips._

_Few moments later, Lord M had entered._

_«Your Majesty.» He had knelt and kissed her hand, as usual._

  
  


Sometimes, she wishes he would be less... formal. She plays with a bow that is sticking out from her hairs, sighing at the recollection of her day.

She meets Skerret's eyes in the mirror, and they smile at each other with an air of complicity.

Although she has never said anything too personal, she has the feeling that Miss Skerret _understands_ how she feels about her dear Lord M.

  
  


_They had discussed the latest vote, something about finalising the penny post, and of course, there was the situation in Afghanistan. It was a most dreadful matter, but she had insisted that she be always kept abreast._

_After at least an hour of discussions about politics, regiments and so forth, he had paused, his eyes fixed on the garden outside the windows._

_His lips twitched nervously, as if he had wanted to say something but was wary to approach the subject._

_«Is something the matter, Lord M?»_

_She had wanted to reach him, touch him. Instead, she had stayed on her chair._

_Sometimes, meeting with Lord Melbourne felt like taming a wild animal. It took a lot of patience, and no sudden movements. Or bursts of affection._

_«There was a lot of talking at the House, today, Ma'am.»_

Oh.

_«Was there?» She had asked, innocently. It had seemed dignified to feign an interest on the ink bottle._ Fascinating object. 

_«Yes, Ma'am.»_

_She could feel a small smile in his voice, as well as a good portion of exasperation._

_«I suppose it is usual. You all meet there to discuss important topics, after all.» She had dared to lift her gaze, and she had seen him shake his head. A small pang of pain at the idea that she had disappointed him had hit her._

_But then she had noticed how his body was slightly trembling, as if he was..._ laughing! He is laughing!

_«You will cause the early death of many members of both parties, Ma'am,» he had said after clearing his throat in the attempt to let the silent laughter die out._

_«I am sure most of them are too hard to even be scratched by anything I might say or do. They mostly cause a scene for the sake of it.»_

_«Maybe you are right.» He had turned to her, then, hands clasped behind his back. «But I cannot allow you to jeopardise the position of the Crown on my account, Ma'am.» Once again, his tone was serious._

_«You cannot_ allow _me, Lord M?» She had raised an eyebrow. Not that she had taken offence, of course. But still, it was a good thing to remind him that she had a (extremely strong) mind of her own._ Furthermore, I have a plan. And I won't allow you to inadvertently ruin it. 

_He had briefly lowered his gaze to the marble floor._

_«And truly, I cannot see how my decision would jeopardise the position of the Crown! I have pondered the matter very carefully, Lord M.» She had smiled, softly. «You have been essential in the making of the Queen that I am now. The_ woman _that I have become.» She had rose from her seat and had reached him by the windows. «No one had ever believed in me before, Lord M,» she had almost whispered. «Sometimes, I think no one believes in me still. But you have been by my side and have advised me and taught me, and in spite of what so many think, you have never used your position to your advantage. Even when I hoped you did.»_

_She had seen him swallow at that, her eyes lingering on his lips, then following the movement down is throat._

  
  


She forgot when she has started to feel the call of his lips, but lately it seems they are the main focus of her gaze. She flushes, but Skerret continues to comb her hair without saying a word.

«Do you...» She doesn't know why she feels compelled to ask her such a question, but she does and hopes it won't lead to more annoying rumours. «Do you think Lord Melbourne handsome, Miss Skerret?» She trusts Skerret.

Her dresser seems surprised by her question, but the sense of complicity between them almost makes them both feel like two normal girls. At least for a brief instant.

«I don't know him very well, Ma'am, but from what I've seen I'd say that yes, he is pretty handsome, for a man his age, that is. I know of many maids who try to sneak a peak when he comes to palace.» She studies the Queen, her frown at those words, and smiles softly. «But, if I may, I don't think he even sees _them_ , Ma'am.»

  
  


_«You don't need to reward me for doing my job, Ma'am. And surely you don't think I'd need recognition to be your_ friend _, I hope.»_

_His voice was calm, and that somehow had infuriated her. It always does._

Why can't he just let go, for once? Always so composed, always so dutiful.

_«I am not suggesting this is some kind of payment for being my friend, Lord M! It is a gift. I am allowed to bestow a gift, now, am I?»_

_His lips had twitched, amused. «Of course you are, Ma'am. But this is way more than a simple gift.»_

_«It is a token of my appreciation for your patience, your counsel, your...»_ Affection.  _«loyalty.» She had paused. «It is nothing much, really.»_ I would give you my soul, a crown, my reign if you only let me, you stubborn, stubborn man. At least accept this!  _«Furthermore, I've noticed you're so often talking about retiring...» It had been her turn to swallow: the idea of not having him as Prime Minister, as Personal Secretary, as friend was ghastly to say the least. «And I thought this would be a perfect retirement gift,» she had tried to joke, but the tremble in her voice had been too blatant for him not to notice it. «A way to make the retirement more comfortable.»_

_«I am flattered, Ma'am, but really, how can I accept something so enormous? The Tories will think you are favouring a party, and you know that this simply cannot be.»_

_«I thought about this as well, and I think I found the perfect solution. I will bestow it upon you at the time of your official retirement. That way, it will be a gift to my friend, and not to the head of a party.» She had smiled, full of hope._ Please, just accept it willingly. Just this once.

_«I..» He had looked at her, eyes wide open, a look of pure affection on her face._ God forgive me, for I find myself surrendering to her a little more every day. I fear that soon the day will come that I won't be able to refuse her anything she asks of me.  _«I will be grateful to receive such an undeserved gift, Ma'am,» he had ceded. «When the time is right,» he had added, his voice stern._

_She had smiled, then, so bright and pure... Whatever had he done to deserve her affections?_

_«I am glad to hear that, Lord M,_ 1st Duke of Melbourne.»

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, I am usually much slower and much more concise while writing, but it appears this story is writing itself..!  
> I'd like to thank you all for the nice feedbacks (you. are. the. best.) and I hoped you liked this chapter as well. And do not worry, more will come.. ;)


	6. Chapter IV

_Time moves slow_  
_When half of your heart has yet to come home._  
 _Every minute’s adding up_  
 _And leaving a mark on us._  
 _I can’t get you out of my mind._  
 _I can’t get you out of my mind._  
 _I can’t get you out of my mind._  
 _I solemnly swear,_  
 _I swear that I’ll never try._

 

Sleeping at Last, _West_

 

 

«I hope I am not too forward, Your Majesty, but I wished to wish you happy birthday, first thing,» Skerret greets her as she sets up to make her hair.

«Thank you, Miss Skerret. I appreciate that,» she answers with a smile. She usually isn't a morning person, but lately she has had some trouble sleeping. She is restless and is not sure as to why.

Well...

Maybe, but she can't admit it to anyone. Sometimes, not even to herself.

It's been two years since she has first proposed to Lord Melbourne. Two years, and for all of her tenaciousness, he still hasn't ceded. _And I am the stubborn one!_

Sometimes, she fears maybe he doesn't care for her as she does for him. Maybe he had simply been polite, using duty as an excuse to not let her feel ashamed or unattractive.

But then, sometimes their eyes meet in the middle of a conversation and everyone and everything just disappears.

Still, he hasn't expressed his affection openly for a long time, now, and a small voice in the back of her head is starting to suggest that maybe... maybe she should just let it go. Let _him_ go.

Frowning, the Queen shakes her head. _No. No! After all I did, after all we went through... I won't let him put me off so easily._

«Ma'am, are you all right?» asks her dresser with concern in her voice.

«Oh, yes, do forgive me Miss Skerret. I was thinking about an important matter and for a moment I forgot that you were making my hair.» She smiles apologetically.

«Are you thinking of your birthday celebrations, tonight, Ma'am? I would be distracted too,» the woman answers knowingly.

«Yes, it is very stressing, all the preparation, but I cannot wait to dance. I love dancing.» Her eyes are sparkling.

«I am sure you will have a splendid night, Ma'am,» the dresser says as her hands keep working on her ringlets.

«I hope you are right, Miss Skerret...» She sighs.

«Will Lord Melbourne attend, Ma'am?»

The Queen and her dresser look at each other in the mirror. At first, she had tried not to mention him too often. Then once, on a whim, she had asked her if she found him handsome, a silly question, really,. But since that moment she had felt more and more comfortable talking to her about _her_ Lord M. Not that she has never said something compromising or too intimate, but she felt some kind of comfort in being able to sometime talk about him with someone. Nothing special, just... normal girls' talks.

«He will. I hope.» Her smile faltered a little. He had missed her nineteenth birthday, after all. But the circumstances were different, so surely he must come to the ball. Right?

«I am sure he wouldn't miss your twenty-second birthday, Your Majesty,» Skerret says as if sensing her doubts. «Or any of your birthdays, Ma'am.»

They share a conspirational look and she feels better. Yes, he wouldn't miss it.

  


*

  


He is in one of the many rooms of the Palace. Not his room, a random one. Not that he doesn't want to be found, in case anyone was to look for him, but... well... It's not technically hiding if he just stays there, thinking, right?

He drops on a sofa with a sigh.

_Yeah, that sounds like hiding to me._

He should be too old for this kind of foolishness, but recently it has become increasingly difficult to keep his inclinations at bay.

It's been two years since she has first proposed to him. Since then, she has proposed twice again, has refused a very suitable match and has made him Duke. Well, the latter not yet. All the paperwork had already been prepared and signed, but the proper bestowing would happen only at the moment of his retirement.

He had tried to dissuade her, but in the end had found it impossible to resist her. She had smiled, and he had accepted. Though he still wasn't sure as to _why_ she had decided to gift him of such a high title, knowing that there would be complaints, repercussions. Especially among the Tories, yes, but also in his own party.

People still believed that she was under some kind of spell, that he had seduced her and God only knows what he did to her during her private meetings. The rumours have calmed down a bit during the years, as the Queen grew and became more independent, but he knows better than to believe a scandal wasn't just a _faux pas_ away.

And if only they knew of her proposals, of the things he wanted to do to her... Yes, a _faux pas_ wasn't too remote a possibility. They only needed to look at each other for a while too long, to brush against each other in the presence of someone just a little too observant, to speak the wrong words...

And recently, as said, it has become increasingly difficult to keep his inclinations at bay. He is a duteous subject, a cautious Prime Minister... but he is also a man, of flesh and blood. And urges. Urges that seemed to blissfully ignore the consequences that any show of affection might have.

Sometimes, when they are alone, discussing memoranda and dispatches, he finds his hand moving of its own accord, almost touching her soft, brown hair. Others, her lips take his full attention and, oh, how easy would it be to just forget everything and claim them with his own.

Therefore, he has made it more and more his mission of _just staying away from her._ He has been somewhat detached in the last few months, and he knows it has hurt her. But he is afraid of what he may do, so close as he is to lose all control of himself.

_If there really is a God, I am sure he or she is testing me._

«Oh, here you are!»

He starts at Emma's voice and quickly brings a hand to his chest. «For Christ's sake! I am not a young man any more, Emma, could you please avoid giving me a heart attack?»

«Tut tut, do stop being so melodramatic, William.» The woman observes him quietly before sitting down with a smile. «So, are you going to tell me _why_ , exactly, are you hiding? Her Majesty has been looking for you, you know.»

«I am _not_ hiding,» he replies, annoyed. «And I'm sure Her Majesty is too busy dancing with everyone in the room to notice my absence.»

«William.» She says his name with a tone of reproach.

«What? It is the truth.»

«Is it though?» She raises her eyebrow.

Lord Melbourne sighs. «What do you want me to say?» He runs a hand on his face. «That I am avoiding her, that I have been avoiding her for weeks, months even?»

«No, because I already know you have. She hasn't been very pleased about it, and you know how she is. She has learnt to keep some remarks and thought to herself when in public, but I am one of her closest friend, she lets things slip more easily in my company. And she has been _torturing_ herself, trying to understand why you would detach yourself so.»

He starts pacing the room. «I am old, Emma. Old enough to be her father. I should see her as a daughter, not...» His lips twitches in disappointment.

«Not as a woman? But she is a woman, and very much _not_ your daughter. You should stop feeling ashamed for what you feel, William. Aren't you tired of carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? Of taking the guilt for everything that has happened and that has yet to happen?»

«It's not shame. I... I could never be ashamed of...» _loving her,_ «my affections towards the Queen. She is the most extraordinary woman I have ever had the honour of meeting. But she is still so young and has so much to discover. And she shouldn't waste her time on an old, cracked man like me.»

«I think the Queen may disagree with you on much of what you just said.»

«Yeah, you're probably right. Which is why...»

«Which is why you are determined to make both your lives miserable,» Emma finishes the sentence for him.

«It is not...» he starts again.

«Oh, but it is. You are _hiding in a room_ , while she is out there looking everywhere for _her Lord M_. It has been like that for _months_ now, William.» She sighs. She loves him dearly, but dear Lord he is a stubborn man. «I am not saying you two should do something foolish. Like... I don't know, running away and marrying _incognito_ in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies and then live off the land.»

Lord Melbourne snorts, mildly amused.

«Just... would it really be the end of the world? It is the Nineteenth Century, after all. This is not Elizabethan time, William. Society has changed, and so have the rules. People have grown to accept all sorts of things that were inconceivable only a few decades ago, you think they wouldn't _understand_ this as well?»

«You make it sound so easy, Emma. And it would be so tempting... But even if people were to understand... She is too young, too pure, _I cannot do this to her_.»

And then he looks at her, and she sees all of his torment, the fear of tainting his beautiful, innocent Queen with his sins, the belief of _simply not being enough_. She almost raises to her feet to hug him. _My poor William, so self-loathing and so scared._ Right now, right here, he seems younger and more doubtful than the Queen, whatever he may say.

«You are not a monster, William! She is very fond of you and you wouldn't _do_ anything _to her_. Nothing she wouldn't want you to do to her, anyway,» she adds mischievously.

«Emma!» He feigns shock and his hands dart to his chest in a dramatic stance, but his lips betray him and curl right at the corners.

She giggles for a few moments then, when she calms down, she continues, «Just... show yourself, dance with her, let her enjoy her birthday, will you? You don't have to decide anything, to turn upside down all of your beliefs in one night. Maybe you'll never change your mind, maybe you will... But at least for tonight, give her this. You simply cannot make her miserable at her own birthday celebrations.»

She smiles softly, watching him processing her words before leaving the room. She knows already he will follow her soon after.

  


*

  


It is well into the night and Queen Victoria has escaped the grand ballroom, finding sanctuary on a small side balcony. Although it is already May, the air is crisp and she shivers. She should go back to her guests, to her birthday celebrations, she knows. But she _needs_ some time to compose herself.

After having danced with all men present, chatted with each and every one of the guests, all the while with a smile on her face, she needs to breathe. When she has entered the room, tonight, she has felt her heart sink in her chest. Her eyes couldn't find the only one she had hoped would be there. But she has put on an affable smile and has done her duty.

Now that her duty is done, she just needs some privacy for her tears to silently pour on her pale skin.

_I am so stupid. I'm just a stupid, childish girl._

With trembling fingers, she tries to sweep the tears away from her cheeks, but they keep coming.

She doesn't really know what she had expected exactly – not a _grand move_ , that's for sure. But at least... at least for him to be there.

_He doesn't care at all._

She bites her bottom lip and her hands grab the marble parapet to steady herself as a wave of frustration and sadness washes over her.

_Stupid_.

She is the Queen of the greatest country in the world, yet here she is, crying like a child because someone didn't attend her birthday celebrations.

Well, not anyone. Someone very specific. Still, she thinks it probably isn't much dignified for her to react like this. Which is why she has fled to this secluded spot.

She starts when she hears a shuffle behind her.

_Not that secluded, then_.

Her Majesty runs the palms of her hands under her eyes, hoping that the silvery light of the moon will hide the redness caused by her crying.

«Your Majesty...» She is about to turn to face the intruder when the soft voice makes her freeze on the spot.

_Thud._

_Thud._

_Thud._

Her heart races.

Slowly, taking a trembling breath, she turns. «Lord Melbourne.» Her lips twitches, as if she wants to say something but then changes her mind. She swallows.

«I wanted to wish you happy birthday, Ma'am.»

She nods at his explanation. Of course, duty.

He tilts his head and observes her. «I hope I am not being too forward, Ma'am, but... are you well?»

«Why shouldn't I be, Lord Melbourne?» she manages to answer.

The fact that she is repeating his full name and that her voice trembles, confirm his suspects. As soon as he has seen her on the balcony, her petite frame flooded by the moonlight, he has felt her distress. The words of Emma reverberate in his mind: _You simply cannot make her miserable at her own birthday celebrations_. His heart sinks at the realization that he may have done so already. As much as he'd like to think that she was crying because of something someone said, the vibrating rage that has infiltrated the sadness in her voice tells him otherwise.

«Ma'am...» He takes a few steps forward, joining her on the balcony. «I want to apologise for...» He purses his lips, wavering. «I am sorry for keeping you waiting, Ma'am.»

She looks away and he just can't stand it, can't stand being the one who has afflicted her so. Without thinking, he takes her hands in his. «I truly am.»

The Queen doesn't look at him at first, and he sees her eyes glistening with tears in the pale light. They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, but must be just some seconds. Then, she inhales deeply and turns to face him.

«Why weren't you there, Lord M?» Her lips are trembling. How could he be so stupid as to hide away during her birthday celebrations? He had already missed one of her birthdasy, and he knows that she would hurt now as she had hurt then.

_Stupid. I am just a stupid, old man._

_So stupid._

«I...» He briefly thinks about lying to her, but dismisses the thought. «I was hiding in a room, here at the Palace, Ma'am. Emma found me and drove me out of there,» he explains in a matter-of-fact tone.

Her lips twitches infinitesimally. He hopes his candour will make her smile. Instead, her expression is confused, somehow hurt. «Why would you hide from me?»

Her wide, blue eyes are pointed on him and he finds himself defenceless. «I think you must know why.»

«You have been hiding from me for a while now, Lord M,» she adds.

He lowers his gaze, his cheekbones flushing with something that she thinks may be shame, embarrassment. «I have, Your Majesty.» His voice sinks to almost a whisper.

They haven't been in such an intimate situation in what feels like ages. Now, the air around them is vibrating with all the emotions pouring from them both.

Frustration.

Sadness.

A gravitational pull that affects the physics itself of the small enclave.

«Do you not care for me at all, then?» Her words are barely audible, but they plunge in his chest with a force that almost punches the air out of his lungs.

His hand moves on its own accord and rests on the soft skin of her jaw. «You and your safety are the only things that disturb my peace of mind. Do you think me indifferent, Ma'am?»

In spite of her frustration, she closes his eyes and leans on his touch. _It is so soft, so warm..._ «Then why? Why have you become so detached, why are you hiding from me?»

«It was the sensitive thing to do, Ma'am. You are a temptation, and I am well-known for being a sinner.» He laughs hoarsely, but softly. His thumb caressing her skin. «I find it more and more difficult to fulfil my duty, and I fear my selfishness might cause you harm if not kept at bay.»

At these words, the Queen raises her gaze to his face, searching for anything that might confirm or discredit the words he has just uttered. «Your selfishness?» She frowns, not sure she understands.

«I deem myself a man of duty, Ma'am. But I am merely a men, and as such, I am prone to... stray. Especially when the object of my desire is so _determined_ to do everything in her power to make sure I do.» He smiles to her, adoringly. That bothersome voice in the back of his mind is murmuring something about how drinking a whole decanter of sherry while hidden away in that room might not have been the best of moves. But he shushes it. _I cannot let her think she is not loved, I cannot make her miserable. Not today of all days._

«Am I the _object of your desire_ , Lord M?»

_This is dangerous, William._ The way she is looking at him, with an openness, an innocence, an adoration that almost make his knees buckle, could be his undoing.

«You already know the answer.»

He should end the sentence with, _Ma'am_ , instead he's gazing at the small changes that her lovely face is undergoing in those last minutes: the fluttering of her long, dark lashes, the slight parting of her tempting lips, the longing in her eyes.

He is barely aware of his own body moving. In fact, it feels the most natural and obvious thing in the world to lean down, closing the distance between them. His hand moves from hers to her waist, pulling her against him.

_God forgive me._

When his lips brush against hers, an alarm bell starts ringing in his ears, but it is too late now.

_For I have sinned._

He presses his mouth against hers and feels her start in surprise before relaxing into his touch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, finally something is moving forward.. it took a lot of stubborness from both parties, but we do like a bit of slow-burning, don't we? :)  
> Thank you all for reading and thanks again for all the kind feedbacks, you are the best ♡


	7. Chapter VII

_And I know_  
_The scariest part is letting go_  
_'Cause love is a ghost you can't control_  
_I promise you the truth can't hurt us now_  
_So let the words slip out of your mouth_

_And all of the steps that led me to you_  
_And all of the hell I had you walk through_  
_But I wouldn't trade a day for the chance to say_  
_My love, I'm in love with you_

  
  


Christina Perri, _The Words_

  
  


It is a strange sensation at first, his lips on hers. She is astonished: they are surprisingly soft and they smell of... sherry? Meanwhile, one of his hands grasps her at the waist, crushing her against him, while the other is still caressing her jaw. She doesn't know what to do, _how to do it_ , but she is too overwhelmed by the emotions springing from the kiss to feel embarrassed.

Her lips, on the other hand, taste like champagne and somehow salty, like her tears. He is cautious, at first, but the feeling of her under his lips make something snap inside his head. He feels like a man starving, parched in the desert. And she... oh, she is the _true_ Gods' ambrosia, she is a feast at his disposal.

His tongue brushes on her lips and he feels her start again in his arms before pressing against him, without really knowing what to do.

The corner of his mouth curls a little. It is unknown territory for her, he knows, but god, he loves her enthusiasm. And it doesn't take long before her lips part a little, granting him access to her mouth. And when their tongue meet and she exhales a moan, he has to force himself to keep a tight rein on his control.

_Have I lost all sense of decency and duty?_

Suddenly, his heart starts to race. _What have I done? What am I doing?_

He pulls away, keeping her at some distance with both hands on her arms. «Victoria...» He speaks impulsively, with a tone that fails to mask the horror at his own behaviour.

But it is also the second time since they first met that he uses her name. If his tone somehow disappoints her, his slip makes her heart skip a beat. The only other time he had almost called her by her name, she was adamant to bring him back as her Prime Minister and he had become quite agitated. But in the end, she had had it her way...

« _Your Majesty,_ » he quickly corrects himself, lightly panting. «I...»

«Don't you dare,» his apologetic tone snaps her from the dream-like feelings of his smell, of his _taste_ on her lips. «Don't you dare apologise for _this_. Or I will send you to the Tower, _William_.» She puts an exaggerate amount of emphasis on his name, letting it roll out her tongue.

It is a strange sensation, his name on her lips. Even in the midst of her new wave of anger, it feels intimate.

To him, it feels like he's been coated with honey. Right before getting kicked into Hell, that is. For what he just did is treason. Or at least, it should be.

«I shouldn't have, Ma'am.» His chest moves slowly and his voice is barely more than a whisper. «Do you see, now, what I mean when I say that it is the sensitive thing to do, to just... _stay away from you_? This, _us_ ,» one of his fingers moves between them, «it is a scandal waiting to explode. And I don't want that for you, you deserve _better_.»

She feels his anger bubbling in his throat, pouring from his voice, and her own anger dissipates a little.

«Let me be the judge of that.»

«I am old, Ma'am. Old, with a life marked by scandal and loss and sins that you should never know of. You have been most persevering but I think it is time I retire, hide away at Brocket Hall and free you from my constant shadow. I think it will be... easier, that way.»

«Two years. It has been two years since I first proposed to you. And yet, here you are, still implying that mine is just an infatuation that will pass once you are removed from my sight. I may have been just a girl when I became the Queen, but I am a woman now. I know my heart will not forget just because you'll leave, _William_. Yes, there are and there will be other men I might find interesting, handsome even, but _they are not you._ »

She reaches for his hands. «I know it is difficult to let go, to accept that there are things you simply _cannot control_.» She pauses, then, waiting for him to meet her eyes. «Yes, you've had a difficult life, but it doesn't define you. Some bad things happened _to_ you, but that doesn't mean you are intrinsically bad. You are not responsible for everything and everyone. You _are_ a good person, I know that. And I couldn't be more honoured to have you as my advisor and friend and...» She bites her lips, then, hesitating.

«You are too kind, Ma'am. I don't deserve it.» He squeezes her hands.

_Maybe they were right and she has her grandfather's condition. It would explain why she insists on not seeing my faults._

«Yes, you do, that's the point!» She rolls her eyes, exasperated. «It is not _your_ decision to make, who is to love you and who is not, Lord M.»

The faintest of smiles curves his lips and she knows that his resolution has started to waver. She has to hold back a smug smile of her own.

«You are so young, and I am but an old man,» he continues, but his voice trembles a little.

«Old enough to be Queen. Old enough to be constantly asked to wed and produce an heir. And most women my age have already been wed for years, some with much older men.» If he notices the light tone of reproach, he says nothing.

«My reputation, Ma'am...» More than a statement, it seems almost a question.

«What about it? No one of sane mind would assume your late wife's actions are your fault. And you have been acquitted of all accusations made by Mr. Norton. Any other rumour is just that, _a rumour_. Barely qualifies. And you have been Prime Minister for many years, and as such you are very well-regarded.»

He snorts.

«Well, you are not _hated_ and have friends in both parties.» She corrects with a twitch of her lips.

«But I am the leader of the Whigs, Ma'am. Any hypothetical _connection_ would be seen as a show of favouritism by the Crown. And that will not do.»

He looks almost pleased in saying that, as if his brain has finally found an argument that she can't dismantle.

_My poor Lord M, does he really think he has some chance of winning this time? He has already surrendered, I can see that in the way he looks at me when he thinks I am distracted. And I can still feel his kiss on my lips... even he cannot think that there is coming back from that. He is just too stubborn and proud to simply admit the defeat of his immense yet distorted sense of duty_

Her lips are tickling with an emerging smile.

«But you are always telling me that you feel your time as Prime Minister is drawing to an end, Lord M. Sure there won't be any favouritism if you were to retire from politics, now, would it?»

She utters the words in such an innocent way that he is torn between crying out in frustration and kissing her again.

«And as your new title will be bestowed upon you at the time of your retirement, Lord M, the problem of favouritism will not be the only issue to have been solved. Nice and neat, don't you think?»

The look on her face is so utterly pleased that he is almost in awe. Slightly furious at himself for not having seen that, too.

«The title. You decided to give me a Dukedom thinking I would one day yield.» It is not a question.

«I _knew_ you would see reason, yes.» _Maybe not knew. Hoped. Prayed for you to see reason._ «And I wanted to be prepared, you see? To be able to rebut all the possible _ifs_ and _buts_.» She flushes a little in saying this.

_My impulsive, clever Queen_ . He is almost proud. Almost. Were it not for the fact that she has deceived him.

«And as I was _researching_ , I discovered that if you ever accepted me, as a Viscount you could only do so through a morganatic marriage, but then I discovered that according to the succession laws, any children born into that kind of marriage could never be my legitimate heir as sovereign of the United Kingdom. And that would not do.»

_Children._

_She thought about having children. My children._

_Our children._

As her explanation goes on, he finds himself dissecting her every word, processing them.

«You thought about... _all that_? About _having all that_. _With me?_ » he lets slip from his lips almost unaware.

«I did.» Her smile is tender and loving and he thinks he never had a choice. He was hers the first time he saw the corner of her lips curling, her smile soothing the ache that had been consuming him until that moment.

«And you decided to make me a Duke. Because of all that.»

She nods, ignoring the shiver of cold on her arms. _If he's not making peace with whatever there is between now soon, I'll just drag him inside and get us drunk. Maybe it won't help, but it surely will be warmer._

«Because you thought about... marriage. And children.»

She nods again, holding back a snort.

«With me.»

She looks up at him at the last two words, his tone transforming the snort into a soft smile.

_He is so clueless._

«When I'm retired from the political life.»

«Well... Yes, that was my idea. I mean, you wouldn't be King Consort even with a Dukedom and a marriage... that is, a non-morganatical marriage. A proper marriage. But I thought that... well, I didn't think you cared for that title. I don't think you care for titles at all, but being a Duke would make it easier for the marriage to be accepted by the House. Not optimal, but easier.»

«You don't even like children,» he states numbly.

«I don't like the idea of childbirth and I would like to postpone it as much as I can, and limit it to my duty as Queen to produce an heir. Still, it was an important point to sort out.» She takes his hands in hers again and playfully brushes her lips on his fingers. «It would have been much easier, to be honest, if I had not to think about producing an heir. I would have accepted a morganatic marriage, as long as it meant I could marry for love.»

«I see.»

«You do?» She looks at him with expectant eyes and he clears his throat.

«I think I do. I think I just started to, Ma'am.» His thumb caresses the soft skin of her hand. «You really thought of everything, haven't you?»

«I hope I did, yes.» Her chest moves rapidly, betraying her agitation.

«You waited, silently weaving your design, and I barely noticed it.» His lips tremble with something that looks like pride. «After you sent Prince Albert away, I was... relieved. To be at your side for some more time, it felt selfish but so relieving. But I _knew_ your infatuation would pass someday. Yet, you did all that.»

«I am a stubborn woman, William. And I like having things my way.»

She giggles a little, and he joins in with an hoarse laughter. «Indeed you do, Ma'am.»

«Now, all that is missing is your answer. You had two years to think about it, and I didn't want to ask it again tonight, but as fate brought us both here, the moon our only witness... Will you marry me, Lord Melbourne?»

«I think I might, _Victoria._ I think I very well might.»  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are ready for the next and last chapter :) I'm thinking about turning this into the start of a serie, so maaaaybe there's a chance we will know what happens next.. not yet, as I've already started a separate fanfiction (coming soon.. and I hope you will enjoy that as well), but I think there's much more to be written about this (sadly not historically accurate) alternative turn of events :)  
> Stay tuned! ;)


	8. Epilogue

_And I never wanted anything from you_   
_Except everything you had and what was left after that too_

 

Florence + The Machine, _Dog Days are Over_

 

  
  


They have been careful and patient for months. Very careful and patient.

To a casual observer, it would almost have looked as if the Queen was finally distancing herself from her omnipresent, loyal _Lord M._

Which, of course, wasn't the case. But after his capitulation, the night of her birthday celebrations, he had insisted they kept a low profile. Stroking the soft skin of her jaw with a thumb, he had murmured to her again that yes, yes, he would marry her, _if_ she was still so inclined at the moment of his retirement. She had glared at his emphasis on _if_ , but he had continued.

  
  


_«Until then, we must not attract more attention than we already did in these years, Ma'... Victoria.»_

_God, how she loved her name on his lips._

_«It may take months before I retire, and I want you to use this time to think this through... Yes, yes, I know, you are sure and you've waited long enough,» he had said with a small smile, taking her hands into his, «But if we really are to proceed on this path, I want you to think about all the downsides: I think you – we – could cope with those who will not be happy about our union, but I do not want you to wake up one day and realize you made a mistake in marrying such an old, sad man. Nor do I want to be a burden to you, a memory that might keep you from happiness when I'll be long gone. I do not want you to regret anything that could have been prevented by some more reflection.» His voice had been strained, as if his sense of duty was using the last of its strength to make her change her mind before it was too late._

_She had squeezed his hands and had looked up, searching for his green eyes. «I won't regret this. And neither will you, I hope.» She had bitten her bottom lip, flushing a little._

_Placing a soft kiss on the side of her head, he whispered, «Never. I only worry about being a burden to you, something that will soon become too obsolete and exhausted to keep up with you.»_

_«There is nothing obsolete in you, William,» she had replied shyly. «And please,» she had pleaded in a small voice, «I do not like it when you talk like that about...»_

_«You need to realize that I will be gone long before you do. You need to accept it if you want this to work.» He had kissed the soft spot under her right eye._

_«I know, but I do not like to talk about it. I want to think about the time we have, to squeeze every second that life is willing to give us. I want to make the most of it, to make each and every one of those seconds unique. I want to fill your life with love and laughter and sometimes disagreement as well, as I wouldn't want you to get bored.» Her lips had twitched and he had let slip a raspy laughter. «I want you to have something that is worth living for, possibly for a long time,» she had finished, feeling incredibly bold._

_«I already have.»_

_They had looked at each other, both marvelling at the unravelling of events._

_Then, he had brushed her lips with his once more and had murmured, «You are cold and your guests must be wondering where their Queen went. Come, let's go back inside.»_

  
  


But now the time for patience and caution has ended.

Another two years have passed, and she is not ashamed to admit that she has almost thought about stripping his damn roles from him more than once since he has finally accepted her proposal. His government was already meant to fall when Lord Wharncliffe had initiated the vote of confidence that has led him to retire in the August of 1841. Lord Melbourne wasn't too afflicted by it, to be honest. But that had meant that from that moment since his official resignation as Leader of the Opposition, more than one year later, their interactions had to be limited to the bare minimum.

So, when the dispatch had come to announce the « _retirement of William Lamb, 2_ _nd_ _Viscount Melbourne as Leader of the opposition»,_ she almost jumped on her chair from the excitement, rapidly moving her hand looking for a quill and a piece of paper to write him a letter. Then, after sending a manservant to Dover House, she had signed another important piece of paper. The one who would officially make him the 1st Duke of Melbourne. She had smiled, thinking that it sounded funny, considering that Melbourne was not a dukedom in England but a city far away, in a land she will never travel to.

Oh, it hasn't been easy.

She had announced her intention of marrying the newly appointed Duke of Melbourne the same day. Emma had politely feigned surprise, which had almost made her laugh, knowing she had been the one to kick William out of hiding that blessed night. Her other ladies-in-waiting, less intimate with the details of their troubled courtship, but still not blind nor deaf, had expressed their congratulation and their joy at Her Majesty's happiness.

Her mother, on the other hand, had cried. Bellowed, almost. When she had started to rattle off invectives in German, the Queen had left her room, announcing blankly that now that she was to be wed, the older woman could go back to Kensington. She would have been required to attend all major royal events, and some of the minor ones as well, but she would not have her at the Palace. Not when she insisted on behaving like that.

Strangely enough, the House hadn't been as difficult as they both feared it would. Sure, the news had caused a stir: she hadn't been there, but apparently members of both parties had screamed so loud that they had to be sent out of the room to deflate. But those were really just a minority, as most of the Lords weren't even that surprised by Her Majesty request that they accept her marriage to the newly bestowed Duke of Melbourne.

William had had a hard time stifling a laughter while recounting the sight of annoyed Lords handing coins to colleagues with smug looks on their faces. Victoria, on the other hand, had been somewhat shocked by the knowledge of the Lords wagering on their relationship.

Still, her request had been approved in a matter of days. He had abandoned his place in politics, after all, and had acquired a Dukedom, albeit in Australia. And he had been most convincing when stating that he didn't care for politics any more: everyone knew that he had wanted to retire from years and that he had continued only because of his sense of duty and... well, a sense of something more, apparently.

  
  


So here she is, now, three long months later, watching Miss Skerrett frowning in concentration while arranging the last white flowers on her head.

Gardenias and orchids. Both delivered from Brocket Hall this same morning.

She is so excited that her hands keep trembling in spite of her best efforts.

«You are so beautiful, Your Majesty. He's a lucky one,» the young maid says to her, winking. Her pale cheeks are flushed: even she is excited. Everyone is, to be honest.

Not her mother, who has been wailing since the first hours of the day. But she will not allow her to ruin this day.

«Do you really think so, Skerrett?» she asks anxiously.

«Everyone knows so, Ma'am,» the dresser replies with certainty. «And you'll see, even the most sceptical will warm to this union when they see how happy their Queen is.»

Victoria inhales deeply, trying to steady herself. Then she raises to her feet and turns to face her dresser, taking her hands into hers. «Thank you, Skerrett.»

Her eyes are shining with anticipation and joy and a little bit of fear as well.

But she is ready.

And so, with her chin up and her hands tightly grasping the most marvellous bouquet of white ranunculus (also from Brocket Hall, as William had insisted and she would not have any other flower anyway), she leaves her room for the last time as an unmarried woman and quickly climbs into her carriage. The journey to St James's Palace, where a very agitated Lord M is already waiting for her, isn't too long, but now that she is approaching the Royal Chapel, it seems like time is slowing, letting her savour every single second of what seems to be a triumphal procession toward her wedding.

And maybe it is, all considered.

She smiles.

_Yes. I am ready._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, with his capitulation come the end. For now, at least... I want to thank you all of you for reading my story and for your kind comments! ♥ You have been great, and I hope I was able to deliver something enjoyable!   
> As for the continuation, I am now writing an unrelated fanfiction (coming soon!), but there is already a little something (second part of the newborn "Of Duty and Inclinations" series, "Frustration") and I have a feeling that more will come.

**Author's Note:**

> I was kind of uncertain on the rating, but as I like to warm to my characters I decided that the smut can wait (for now..). Furthermore, as I'm not a native English speaker, I apologise in advance for any mistake :) In any case, I hope you've enjoyed this first chapter and will continue reading... and of course, any feedback is more than welcome!


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